


Warm

by SenkoWakimarin



Series: Let Them Eat Flesh [2]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Blood and Injury, Cannibalism, M/M, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: David is warm.





	Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mr-finch (soubriquet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/gifts).



> The last one wasn't porny enough. This one isn't cannibal-y enough. We all make concessions in our pursuit of art.
> 
> This follows 'I Wanna Be Yours'.

It’s something about the potential to hurt and the need to trust and the hunger for touch, all twined together, inseparable in the close darkness of need. Something about fear -- about the rush of endorphins, about the sweet sting of loss, about not  _ needing _ to be afraid -- about how blood and sweat smell the same, like salt and exhilaration and bright, giddy terror, riding heady and high in the senses.

Something about survival and all the ways one can manage it, all the slippery connections from one moment to another, leading you, blindly, from one state to the another.

Something about warmth.

Something.

And maybe, really, it’s always been this way, under all the pretense; it’s all practical contact lingering into casual touch ballooning into a need too hot to be contained.

It tracks. It bleeds, like memory, like fate, one thing to the next.

David presses his teeth to Frank’s neck, and Frank feels his heart clench in something between terror and trust. David could tear his throat out, David could bite down and never stop, but he wouldn’t, he would  _ never _ \-- but he  _ could _ . And like this, letting him get this close, Frank couldn’t stop him without sustaining injury. He’d be fucked either way.

Biting down, David sucks the thin flesh of Frank’s throat, and at the threat of those teeth, all Frank can do is drop his head back and give the other man room to work. David spreads his hands over Frank’s chest, greedy for the warmth, for the rapid beat of Frank’s heart, and he makes this tiny hungry noise when Frank arches into his hands that makes Frank want to scream, makes him want to pull away.

He moans instead, and David laughs quietly like he knows. 

A thumb finds one nipple and honestly, Frank’s never really considered his chest as particularly sensitive, but under those cool fingers, all of him feels electric. David makes a few slow circles and Frank clenches his jaw, pushing against that hand, into those teeth.

There will be a bruise there on his throat, unmistakable in origin, impossible to disguise, and Frank doesn’t care. Frank wants to give up his control, just for a moment, and David needs a moment to have control over something, anything. It’s only fair, it’s only right, that they do for each other what they can. 

David swings his leg over Frank’s thighs, shifting where his bite closes, pinning Frank to the cot. He’s not hard, not yet -- with his altered circulation, he might not get there at all if they don’t really work for it -- but Frank certainly is. Frank’s wants and David’s wants, they’re all twisted together in this, and somehow it works. It’s hard to say if this is new, this feeling, smothering under a touch; is it new, or have they always been like this?

When David kisses him, his mouth tastes like copper, cloying enough that Frank thinks he should gag. He tangles his fingers in David’s hair and keeps him there instead, holding him close until he can feel him start to warm, his sluggish pulse picking up. Only then does he ease back, breathing harshly, looking up into those vivid, assessing eyes. 

Since Frank convinced David to eat the last time, David has been less resistant to eating what Frank can find him. Cutting Frank apart for the sake of keeping David healthy isn’t ideal, and they’d both known it from the start. Getting David to accept the meat that was available had been harder -- they couldn’t exactly vet the people Frank killed for illnesses that would make David sicker. But so far, these past few weeks, it had gone well enough. 

There was a decided difference in David, not just in weight -- he was finally putting some on -- but in color and vibrance. Infected had a distinct look about them if you knew the signs; pallor that came with that too slow pulse, a redness to the eyes. When well-fed, these were less noticeable, but the pallor only fled when the infected person was excited enough to raise their pulse rate. David, now, looked almost healthy again, the barest hint of high colour on his cheeks, pupils blown wide. 

Another kiss, briefer, fleeting, and then David is pressing his way down Frank’s jaw, his neck, curling over him, grinding against him. It takes more to get him excited enough, but Frank gripping him through his jeans, palming and rubbing in broad, firm strokes, seems to help. He sits back after a moment spine arched to cant his hips into Frank’s touch.

Frank expects this to be more difficult. He expects there to be guilt or shame so extreme he has to call a stop to this. He expects to think of Maria, or at the very least of Sarah, and be so consumed by his own guilt he’d shut down. It’s why they’ve never tried this, it’s why, prior to David’s impulsive kiss after carving a morsel out of Frank’s back, they’ve never even laid down facing one another.

Instead he finds only a sense of rightness, of a need being met. It’s natural, it’s need; both of them are swept up in this and seeing it through is as necessary as drawing a fresh breath.

Even now, even like this, blood pumping at a rate that feels a little fast even by Frank’s measure, David’s fingers feel cold. When David presses one, slick with lube, into Frank, Frank jackknifes helplessly and David murmurs breathless apologies, smart enough to know not to stop. 

He doesn’t draw it out; maybe he knows Frank couldn't handle it if he did. Maybe, Frank thinks, he couldn’t handle it himself. He does just enough to keep Frank from getting hurt, and then he’s got his face buried against Frank’s neck, kissing open mouthed there as his cock, hot even to Frank, presses in slow and deep and perfect. There’s a burn, a winding tension in the core of him, as David fucks into him, in and in, too much and too slow and all Frank wants is more.

“Bite,” He says, the word exhaled, half an order, half a plea. “I need…”

He does, it’s more than a want, it’s need, like a heart needs blood, like a lung needs air. He can’t explain it, doesn’t want to explain it. 

And never let it be said that David wasn’t accommodating; he barely hesitates before his teeth are digging into Frank’s shoulder, a low hungry sound growling out of his throat. Frank leans back into the cot, fingers scrabbling at David’s back. 

It’s not anything slow or sensual; it’s hard and fast and utterly filthy, and it means everything. It’s trust and fear and furious hunger, in both of them. It’s a bloom of blood, under Franks nails and into David’s mouth. 

Gasping, eyes wide open but unable to focus, Frank finds himself coming like a gunshot, harder than he can ever remember, cock pinned between their bodies. David continues thrusting for a long time, driving into Frank’s over-sensitized body for what feels like a hellish long time before stuttering against him, buried deep as he finds his release. 

They collapse together, David hooking his legs around Frank’s as he sprawls over Frank’s chest, and for once, he’s warm. He’s warm, almost hot, and his pulse when Frank finds it, is humming along, healthy, fast, strong. 

Their lips meet, sloppy, barely a kiss, and Frank knows for a certainty the blood he tastes in David’s mouth is all his. He shudders and David hums, self-conscious suddenly, as he starts to roll away.

“Don’t,” Frank says, and it’s ridiculous, given everything, but he says it anyway, holding David to him. “You’re warm.”


End file.
